


please leave a message after the beep

by sixthirty



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drinking to Cope, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixthirty/pseuds/sixthirty
Summary: The person you have called could not pick up, please hang up or leave a message after the beep.





	please leave a message after the beep

**Author's Note:**

> me projecting, the fic. the ending is ambiguous, left for u to interpret. i know it ends negatively but pls pay attention to what guan says!! i hope u enjoy

_We’re sorry. Your call could not be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again._

**one.**

He wishes he could forget.

The way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he held his hand. he wishes he could forget it all.

But he calls anyway. He keeps calling even if he doesn’t remember the number correctly because one day he’ll get it right and he’ll make it right and he won’t be such a screwup. Even if that’s all he is, all he’ll ever be.

There’s something special about the way they go hand in hand. They were— are— yin and yang. They compliment the worst of each other and balance it out. 

Truthfully, and simply put, they are made for each other. Pieces and atoms and stardust taken from the same star and cut in half at the hands of Zeus because they were too powerful as one. 

And Jihoon had to go and fuck it up. 

Guanlin is beautiful. A gentle boy, with a heart of gold and the sun for a smile. He is light, all things good and happy and wonderful. And jihoon is the dark, a soul sucking kind of entity who was filled with something special in the form of Lai Guanlin and jihoon fucked it up.

He wishes he could forget the way the thunderstorm shook the house and lit up the darkness of the rooms with lightning as he watched the way guanlin’s crumpled form shook almost violently on the floor. He wishes he could forget the look on guanlin’s face. The complete heartbreak.

Guanlin had left not long after that night, two small suitcases gripped tightly in his hands and a backpack on his back. He left behind everything jihoon had gotten him. Jihoon pretends not to notice. Guanlin had left and with him, took Jihoon’s heart. He tries to tell himself that maybe one night, he’ll move on.

Countless nights are spent alone with cheap bottles of alcohol and a shitty jazz record Guanlin had gotten him as a joke. He longs for his taiwanese prince as he called him and wonders where it all went wrong, where he fucked up, where, where, where. He cries silently as shitty romcom movies play after reruns of friends because he hasn’t changed the channel in days. He pretends not to notice the saltiness of his tears in his plastic wine cup they had leftover from New Years. He sits for hours on that damn blue couch he and guanlin picked out at that one auction a year ago and tries to forget the one time Guanlin held him close, kissed him softly, held his hand during the one part in Coco. He tries to forget the way he would softly pet Guanlin’s hair on dozens of late nights by chugging more cheap bottles of soju and playing more shitty jazz records they owned.

He wishes he could forget him. 

(But he can’t.)

_We’re sorry. Your call could not be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again._

**two.**

A month later, jihoon wakes to Guanlin cleaning the living room.

He wonders if this is a dream, like the countless ones hes had before as he watches dreamlike Guanlin toss empty bottles and cans of beer and soju into a black trash bag. They don’t talk for awhile, not until they sit on the blue couch in a now clean living room.

When Guanlin finally opens his mouth, Jihoon’s heart stutters like the way his shitty jazz records skip over and his tears burn down his face like the soju does down his throat. Guanlin speaks of his feelings, his thoughts and the way jihoon had hurt him (which makes jihoon’s heart crumble and his insides deflate into a pool of self guilt.) He speaks of the way how this affected him mentally, the nights spent laying awake in complete darkness wondering if he was good enough. How he almost went back to his shitty ex Wooseok because he felt so lost without jihoon, only to go home because of he thought of jihoon.

He speaks of the way he longed for jihoon, believed in _them_ , and that’s why he came back.

(He also speaks of the way he thinks they should wait to try again, how they aren’t good for each other right now. Guanlin speaks, and Jihoon does his best to listen and to pretend he isn’t hurting from the awareness of everything he caused guanlin.

He only gets so far pretending until Guanlin says to not contact him at all, and that he’ll come back on his own terms and Jihoon breaks down on the inside when he stands to leave.)

When Guanlin leaves 10 minutes later wearing a hoodie Jihoon had gotten him, Jihoon carries that tiny bit of hope inside his heart and does his best to ignore that empty space in his bed, _their_ bed, while he sleeps that night. He only gets so far before he falls asleep against a tear soaked pillow in a t-shirt slightly too big for him.

He dreams of the way he held his hand when they walked in the park. How he laughed, getting ice cream on his nose. How he smiled widely at the puppy running in circles around his legs. 

He dreams of the way they would sleep in on Sunday mornings, still in bed by 3 in the afternoon. 

He dreams of a time where Guanlin will answer his calls, a drawl of ‘ _honey_ ’ on the end of the line in his sweet, deep voice.

He dreams of the day Guanlin comes back to him, unaware of the fact that its closer than he thinks.

Jihoon sleeps, eyes puffy, face full of tears and dreams of the star they were made from, shining brightly in the black void of space.

His hand grips his phone, squeezing tighter in his sleep.

He tells himself that he’ll listen to Guanlin’s words of him returning soon, and repeat them like a mantra in his head and to himself in the mirror of the bathroom. He’ll try to listen, for Guanlin.

But because he is impatient, he dreams of the way he’ll get up in the morning and try calling again, hoping that this time, he’ll finally get the number right.

—

**three.**

_We’re sorry. Your call could not be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again._

**Author's Note:**

> :)  
> twitter > onglins ( O N G L I N S )


End file.
